A dying moonbeam
With painted nails
Winding upon
The sandy trails
The course grass cuts
Its painful thrusts.
Its dagger sharp
In violent dusk.
Saddened faces
Here again
Moment time
Bitter refrain
Violent shore
Fifty yards away
Kisses sands
Thoughts astray.
In torch light
Touching up her nails
Waiting for her man
Who went away
Its thirty years
Seems like yesterday
In memories
That still sway.
-
Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: September 2nd, 2025 01:46
- Comment from author about the poem: A woman aging and suffering mental illness who was jilted thirty years ago at a beach party
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
Offline)
Comments3
A disabled mind taken advantage of and all the complications that follow in a memory that distorts fantasy from reality serves as a metaphor for all of us with our own mental limitations in a plane where there is a separate reality for each. Loved it
appreciated, thanks
Most welcome
I worked for years in community with people suffering from mental ilness .It couldn't fail to inspire me .
I often ask who are the sane and insane, sometimes vice versa
I myself suffer from an autism spectrum desorder (supposed light ). So the issue has always interested me !
at a bad time in my life i suffered anxiety attacks. it was horrendous, fight or flight, still a little edgy even now at appointments etc
Writing is therapeutic !
I find that also, it allows expression that sometimes we hide away
Memories are such powerful things! Reminds me of poor old Ms Havisham and Pip🙏🏻🕊️
thanking you, as always appreciated
Same here Norman, see you ‘round the site🙏🏻🕊
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